Chapter 02. Pursued.

"Sir." The subordinate said as he entered Di Marco's office.

The place exuded elegance in every detail, from the decor to the enormous double-height ceiling with a chandelier of white lights. The furniture was new and in neutral tones. Wherever you looked, the word elegance was written.

The scent of Royal Courtesan flooded every corner of the room, mingling with the bergamot of the air freshener. The ice in his whisky clinked as it melted, cubes sliding over one another, the sound echoing through the silent office.

"Elio Mancini, a young man of nineteen years old, born in 2002, July 26th."

That was the first piece of information the young boss Di Marco received from his subordinate. He continued reading the report which, incidentally, was nothing more than a single letter-sized page.

"He turns twenty in three months."

"That's correct, sir."

Vicenzo kept reading.

According to the file he'd been given, Elio lived only with his mother and siblings. His father had died of an alleged alcohol overdose five years prior. The man had been found outside a bar in a rough neighborhood, his body purple, with a bottle of adulterated beer beside him.

Elio was the fourth of five children, with two sisters and two brothers. A large family, he thought.

He continued reading while taking a drag from the cigar in his left hand. Elio turned out to be good at his studies. He'd held the top spot since childhood all the way through high school, having graduated just a few months ago.

His mother had worked for several years with the Mandeli family. She seemed to be an important person in that household. He recalled that Luigi Mandeli had told him about a highly trusted maid. She had even accompanied his godfather to close some important deals. Perhaps he'd seen her once, but he couldn't remember her face.

However, before his father's death, there seemed to be no information about them. Nothing about grandparents, city of origin, relatives living in the same city, or anything of the sort. Vicenzo felt even more curiosity about Elio Mancini.

...

"Young Vicenzo sent one of his subordinates to investigate a young man who works with Mr. Luigi Mandeli at his notary office," reported Marcello Cavalli, Gabriele Di Marco's right-hand man.

"Follow him. Tell me where he goes after work, what he does, who his friends are, what he likes, what he dislikes. Investigate his family, his background, his blood type... I want everything about that boy."

"Yes, sir."

"What kind of people are you dealing with, Vicent?"

Grandfather Gabriele, who at that time still enjoyed stable health, worried greatly about his only grandson. He had once allowed him to do things on his own, and the consequences had been fatal, even if Vicenzo still wouldn't accept it. Now, he had to make sure his grandson made the right choice.

...

After that day, both mafia bosses turned their attention to the young man.

Elio was young, but not stupid. He'd noticed that for a couple of weeks now, someone had been following him.

At first, he thought it was his brother they were tailing. Carlo Mancini was a crime and politics journalist who had made many enemies since he'd decided to air the dirty laundry of a supreme court judge. However, that theory was discarded when, on weekends or after his self-defense classes, he spotted people behind him.

Still, he didn't know who they were or what they wanted. He thought about his aunts. They were the only ones capable of something as low as stalking. And if it was them, he wasn't going to run. He wanted to get revenge for his father's death.

Even though the case was closed and the forensics had ruled it an overdose, neither he nor his sister believed that.

"I'll walk home alone, brother. You don't have to come get me."

Elio had decided to confront the bastards who'd been following him.

It was six-thirty in the evening when he left work. The sun hadn't been kind those days, and by that hour it was nearly hidden. He walked discreetly toward the spot he'd planned.

He sensed three presences behind him. He continued into an alley, hoping to ambush them. He moved a little faster than whoever was following him. He hid and waited for the man to walk past.

He made sure no one else was nearby and stepped out of his hiding spot. He walked up behind the man and caught him by surprise.

"Lose something?" he asked, stepping out from behind a dumpster.

The man grunted, annoyed, his expression shifting to one of concern. Elio stood with his arms crossed, waiting for a response that never came.

"Oh," the man exclaimed with sheer mockery, "you'll find out soon enough."

As soon as the man stopped talking, Elio felt two presences behind him. Before he could turn his head, they immobilized him, pressing a drug-soaked cloth to his nose, putting him to sleep.

He tried to struggle before his body lost consciousness, but it was useless. There were more of them, and they were much stronger. He felt stupid for thinking he could face them alone.

...

Elio's vision was blurry and his eyelids felt heavy. His head was pounding, just like the first time he'd gotten drunk.

He turned his head in every direction once he'd regained his senses. He was afraid, but his subconscious was desperately searching for an exit. There wasn't even a window.

The room he was in was spacious and dimly lit, yet there were books everywhere. Strangely, he felt relieved not to be tied to a chair in some horrible place. He'd watched movies about serial killers, kidnappings, documentaries about murderers and abductors. Usually, they all took their victims to a vacant lot, an abandoned warehouse, or a gloomy basement.

He searched frantically for his belongings. His backpack was gone and his phone wasn't in his pockets. He was fucked. He looked all around, but the dim light wouldn't let him see beyond half a meter.

"Looking for this?" A voice from the shadows made him stop tossing the sofa cushions. A desk lamp clicked on, partially illuminating a face.

Elio spun around, stunned. The man, who looked to be in his eighties, held his phone. How long had he been there? Had he been so absorbed in his search that he hadn't noticed him?

"Why did they bring me here? Who are you people?" Elio stood up, alarmed. The man did the same and walked around the desk until he stood in front of him, leaning his body against the wood as he looked the boy over from head to toe. He was beautiful. He couldn't deny that his grandson had good taste.

"Don't worry, we won't hurt you."

"Of course, how could I have possibly thought that?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You drugged me, brought me here by force, and left me with no way to communicate. Surely it's all a good thing." The sarcastic tone drew a hearty laugh from the old man. He had to admit, the kid had guts. He was standing in front of his captor, and as scared as he looked, his mocking words gave him a certain courage.

"It's less terrible than it sounds," the old man said, walking toward a wall.

After raising the lighting, Elio could better see the man's face, and his captors behind the old man. They were large and tattooed. He felt even more stupid now that he got a good look at them. With a small, weak body, he could never fight them. But his gaze returned to the old man. He'd seen elderly men before, and their faces usually looked kind. This one, however, was the complete opposite. He swallowed hard at the imposing face before him.

But Elio Mancini was not the kind to be intimidated. Swallowing his fear, he fixed the man with a defiant stare.

"What do you want?"

"Relax. I just want to talk to you."

Elio said nothing, his gaze still defiant. The old man twisted his lips into a satisfied smile. Despite how pretty and delicate the boy appeared, he undoubtedly had a rebellious and courageous spirit.

He was pleased with his grandson's good choice.

...

Vicenzo drove with an expression of complete seriousness and frustration. His subordinate had informed him that some people had kidnapped the young Mancini. He'd tracked them, and they'd taken him to his grandfather's home.

The hazel-eyed man gripped the leather steering wheel of his Ferrari so tightly that the veins in his hands stood out from the force.

What did his grandfather want with that boy? He let out an irritated huff, clenching his teeth.

He kept driving. His grandfather had done it again. His memories traveled back ten years, when he was only twenty-five and deeply in love.

She had been, and he was almost certain she would be, his only love. As ridiculous as it sounded, that's what he believed. She didn't deserve what his grandfather had done, framing her like that. He wanted to defend her, but his family had always come first. If he had another chance, though, he wouldn't hesitate to save her from that humiliation.

He finally arrived at the enormous mansion surrounded by armed men. He rushed inside through the grand door that adorned the main entrance, striding toward the library.

"I'm sorry, young sir, your grandfather gave specific orders that no one is to disturb him."

The guard at the entrance bowed toward him in apology.

Vicenzo Di Marco muttered some unintelligible words in annoyance.

No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't interrupt. Even as his grandson, there would be consequences if he disobeyed a direct order from the elder Di Marco.

With no other choice, he decided to wait in the sitting room.

His plan would surely go to hell after the kidnapping of that boy. He didn't even know his name, and the kid was already being interrogated by his grandfather.

"Damn it."

He muttered the word as he poured himself a glass of tequila.

...

Elio was still processing what the old man had been asking him. It seemed unnecessary, since he already had all the information in the folder in his hands.

When he asked why the man insisted on asking questions he already had the answers to, the elder Di Marco smiled easily and replied, "I want to test your patience, that's all."

"I assure you it's not much. It's almost reached its limit."

Elio was struggling to stay seated and not walk out or say something he would most certainly regret.

There were three guards inside, the same ones who had brought him here. He was absolutely certain there would be even more sentries behind those doors. Getting out alive wasn't something he could do.

"Aren't you curious why I brought you here?"

"I asked that from the beginning."

The old man smiled. His grandson really had found himself a rebellious "wife." The defiance Elio displayed pleased him, as it somehow reminded him of his younger self.

"Tell me, young man," Gabriele said. He'd returned to his seat a while ago and leaned back against the leather chair, fixing Elio with inquisitive eyes before continuing his question. "Do you have a romantic partner?"

The boy's expression shifted from stoic and disinterested to one of utter confusion.

In truth, he didn't even have a close friend. Since his second year of middle school, he'd begun distancing himself from those he'd considered friends at the time.

He'd left each of them in the past and continued living a life without forming bonds of friendship with anyone. Much less romantic ones.

The life he'd had alongside his father had taught him that he didn't need anyone by his side. And yet, remembering that he had once felt the need for that person, for their affection and undivided attention, that feeling irritated him. Perhaps because it hadn't been reciprocated, or simply because he hated that part of himself: the part capable of falling in love.

Tch, I truly hate it, he thought, as the sensation he'd buried years ago consumed him from the inside once again.

That person had pulled away from him suddenly. At the time, he couldn't explain his emotions. He'd already left everything behind once to move to a new city, so he didn't understand why the sudden withdrawal of that boy had hurt so much.

"What does that matter?" he snapped. Prying into his love life irritated him.

"It matters more than you think." The hazel-eyed old man leaned toward him with an intimidating gaze, yet one that somehow assured him that nothing would happen to him. "I have a proposal for you, Elio Mancini."

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